


You Know Why

by yokomya



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Minor Octavia Blake/Lincoln, Mutual Pining, Past Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:30:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5936875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yokomya/pseuds/yokomya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You got your drink,” Bellamy says, voice calmer than his posture is letting on, “How about that dance?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know Why

Clarke runs her hands through her hair so it’s somewhat presentable - although it’s going to get disheveled at some point - and tugs a leather jacket on. It’s a little chilly outside but she doesn’t notice during the walk down the street.

So many things are running across her mind, so many _unnecessary_ things. She wants to forget all of it.   

“I just want to dance and get drunk.”

It’s the first words that slip out of her mouth when she meets up with Octavia, one of her closest friends, the girl who was best to be around at times like this. Because unlike most people, Octavia won’t lecture Clarke too much or for too long so at least she doesn’t have to worry about rehashing all the bad memories over the last few weeks.

Contrary to that thought, Octavia grabs Clarke’s wrist and jerks her back from the door of the house party, crossing her arms.

“I invited you out tonight so we could have _fun_. You said you wanted that. Should I quote the text? Or is this another ‘ _Lexa broke my heart so I’m going to get messed up_ ’ kind of fun?”

“What are you talking about?” Clarke shrugs, the name _Lexa_ salt on an open wound. “That’s what I plan to do. Have fun.”

“Show me then,” Octavia challenges, dragging her inside.

Pop music fills the hallways of the corridor and Clarke already moves to the rhythm, a grin going on her face. That’s what she needs.

Music. Dancing.

An escape.

Octavia catches her smile and returns it, leading Clarke through the flurry of people so they have a little space. Some classmates recognize them and they have short conversations, the usual _hey, how's it going_ or  _I'm gonna be so hungover tomorrow_. Boring, meaningless chatter that Clarke has forced herself to get accustomed to.

“Wanna dance, Clarke?” One guy asks, a slur to his voice. “Or is Lexa still hittin’ that?”

Octavia doesn’t waste a second shoving him, “Step off, dick.”

Clarke says nothing and reassures Octavia by twirling her on the dance floor, sunshine in her eyes, the drop of the beat on her heart. Colors flicker around them, painting lights over the walls and floor, letting Clarke blend into another world, another mindset where she doesn’t have to dwell on the past or future - she can live in the moment.

No need to think about anyone or anything. 

They keep at it for a while, probably half an hour, before Octavia's dancing slows and disgust washes over her face.

“Oh, great,” she sighs, hand on her hip, “My brother.”

“Don’t act so happy to see me,” Bellamy greets gruffly, emerging from the crowd with a bottle of strong scented alcohol in hand, “Be nice if you want your secret safe.”

“Like I care if our mother knows I’m here,” Octavia rolls her eyes, jutting her head at Clarke, “Besides, I can’t get into too much trouble with this one around, remember?”

“Is that right?" Clarke squints, reaching out to take Bellamy's alcohol, as if to prove a point. The Blake siblings share a knowing look when she drops it from her face, shoving the bottle back to his chest.

“Your boyfriend’s outside,” Bellamy tells Octavia mildly, taking a drink from the bottle, eyes trained on Clarke, “Figured you would show up.”

Then he waits - expects something from Clarke but she doesn't meet his stare - so he disappears back into the crowd. 

“Why does he have to be such a hard ass?” Octavia scoffs, “I’m sick of being treated like a baby.”

“He’s protective,” Clarke mutters, “Be glad someone cares about you.”

Octavia opens her mouth - but she seems to think better of commenting - and shuts it. The music becomes softer above, ending their vibe, and she lays a hand on Clarke's shoulder.  

“Hey, I’m gonna find Lincoln. Wanna come with me?”

“You go ahead,” Clarke waves off, “You guys hardly see each other. Besides, I think I’m gonna find something else to drink.”

“If I catch you drowning in sorrow when I get back, you’re _dead_ ,” Octavia warns, pulling her hair back behind her shoulders, “Got it?”

“Loud and clear.”

When Octavia’s gone, Clarke finds the kitchen, away from the bustling crowd. There’s some hard liquor, a punch bowl, half empty beer cans - a mess more than anything. Maybe College parties won’t be this bad.

Automatically, she reaches for the hard stuff at the same time someone sighs from behind.

“Should I be worried, princess?”

Bellamy’s empty handed now, leaning against the door frame, eyebrows lifted.

“What? I can’t have a good time?” Clarke asks, a bit harsher than she meant to, before popping open a bottle of dark liquor. One swig has her throat on fire and she almost chokes at the sudden intensity.

Bellamy leans off the wall and is by her side, taking it from her.

“This isn’t your scene,” he exclaims, sliding the liquor across the counter out of reach. "You know it's not."

“Maybe Octavia was right,” Clarke retorts, “You _are_ a hard ass.”

“Yeah, well, as entertaining as seeing you drunk would be - nobody likes nursing an emotional drunk.”

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Bellamy,” she dares, picking up another bottle - hopefully this one has some flavor. Bellamy’s eyes bore into hers as she swallows.The liquor slides down and the music in the other room booms a little louder, Bellamy’s eyes become a little prettier, her face grows warmer.

“I’ve seen you drunk before,” Clarke mentions, “So, don’t lecture me.”

He glances away, his palm firm on the counter, and then back as soon as she starts chugging the bottle again.

“Seriously, you need to slow down.”

“You know,” Clarke starts, moving the bottle off her lips slightly, “Everyone’s always telling me what I _need_ to do. What about what I _want_ to do? I want to dance and I want to get drunk so back off, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Clarke.”

He’s gone in an instant.

Clarke lowers the bottle from her mouth completely now, the taste so bitter on her tongue that she swears it’s actually battery acid instead. Dropping it back on the counter, she leaves the kitchen, eyes sweeping over the mingling bodies outside.

Guilt courses through her veins, panic erupts in her soul. 

She didn't mean it.

“Bellamy, wait,” she calls out, seeking, buzzed but far from drunk. She moves through the people, bumping them aside, gasping a little when someone pulls her backwards.

“What?” Bellamy asks in a low voice, near her ear, acting uninterested. Clarke can tell otherwise. His hands leave her arms but he's still close enough to make feelings and emotions become a thing again. 

The baseline in the song beats harder, resounds in her chest, and she moves out of Bellamy's warmth unwillingly. 

“Lexa cheated on me,” she says between tight lips, feeling almost stupid for it. Well, it's off her chest now. It's out there - better than being pent up inside. Even if it hurt to say, she needed to say it. She needed Bellamy to hear it.

“And this is how you get her back or what?” Bellamy replies, his eyebrows scrunched up in genuine confusion. Somehow, she expected him to be angry or upset or to laugh in her face. Something that wasn’t _that_.

Clarke is quiet, studying his expression before laughter bubbles up and escapes her parted lips.

“You’re as empathetic as Octavia.”

“Look,” Bellamy sighs, not finding any humor in it, “I’m gonna say something and it isn’t pretty.”

“Say it,” Clarke nods, picking up the serious attitude, “I can handle it.”

“Lexa doesn’t deserve you,” he shrugs, “You’re better than this. Better than what she turns you into. Don’t let her screw you over anymore.”

Some of the strobe lights stream colors over Bellamy’s face, splay blues and golds over his alluring stare. Her heart skips a beat.

“She loves me,” Clarke stammers, “I know she does, I just - _I’m_ the one who isn’t enough.”

Bellamy puts a hand up to his forehead and shakes his head. It isn't the first time she's been cheated on. The disappointment and resentment shines through the moment his hand drops to his side, and he peers around as if advice will fall from the sky.

“Do you really think that?”

His voice fills the emptiness, takes up the space that Lexa left behind. Clarke swallows and tucks her hands into her pockets, shrugging, because she won’t lie, not to him. Not to Bellamy.

Her best friend. The guy who’s been there, whether he wants to be or not. The guy who watches out for the people he treasures - Clarke lucky enough to be one of them - and does his best to make sure they're okay. Even if sometimes he doesn't know how.

“Come on,” Bellamy mumbles, taking her hand and leading her out of the crowded room - straight into the backyard, under the stars. The voices of the party are more distant, more faded. Surprisingly, he doesn’t let go, even after finding a more secluded spot. He turns around and checks their surroundings, assured that nobody’s watching, and looks at her.

“You got your drink,” he says, voice calmer than his posture is letting on, “How about that dance?”

Clarke stares at him, wondering if this is a trick or a joke, but when his expression promises neither, her fingers twitch in his hand, her pulse rises, her nerves electrify. He steps forward and Clarke doesn’t step back, she inhales and puts her arms gingerly around his neck as his carefully slip around her waist. 

They both pause, make sure it's okay, and start to sway back and forth. 

“This is weird,” she mutters, “Isn’t it?”

“Is it?” he asks smoothly - despite the blatant embarrassment on his face.

“You don't always have to act tough,” Clarke smiles slightly, easing into the swaying, muscles relaxing against him, “Doesn’t it get tiring?”

“Not as tiring as watching you torture yourself over a girl that treats you like crap.”

She hides her face into his jacket, resting her eyes, breathing in his scent - firewood and fresh laundry. There are a million ways to respond but none of them come out right in her head. Anything could shatter the fragility of this moment. She's afraid of that.

“Mmm, well,” she dismisses, “I don’t have anything smart to say back.”

“And you don’t have to.”

They’re quiet for a while, not exactly dancing but moving in circles, close. Clarke can’t deny the way she melts into him, wishing this could last forever. Wishing she could forget about Lexa and all the other boys and girls that have hurt her. Bellamy has always been there. And he’s never hurt her.

“You aren’t so different though,” she muses, “With your girls. You can’t stay with anyone for long. Doesn’t that get lonely?”

“At least I know what I’m doing,” Bellamy replies curtly, squeezing her hand a little for no reason - or maybe there is and Clarke is too dazed to figure it out - and rubs his other hand down her spine. His breath is soft by her ear, making her body shudder instinctively.

“And I’m here with you,” he whispers, “Aren’t I?”

The buzz must be messing with her head now because his voice has gone sweeter - not sounding like the indifferent Bellamy Blake she’s always known. Her breath hitches and she stops moving, pulling back so she can look at his face.

“I should, uh, find Octavia-” she stutters, putting a hand up to her heated temple, “She’s probably looking for me.”

“Okay,” Bellamy agrees, back to his usual apathy. Nonchalantly pocketing his hands as if they were already there in the first place.

Clarke turns around, walks off - but stops, biting her lip, and stalks back up to Bellamy.

“Why don’t you ever stop me?” she snaps, voice wobbling, “I told you about Lexa before and you didn’t say anything. You acted like it didn’t matter.”

“Oh, come on,” Bellamy grumbles, “You’re a big girl, princess. You don’t need me to tell you what you want.”

“Stop pretending you don’t care,” Clarke tries instead, trailing off, “Because we both know you’re a liar.”

He stares at her, taken back, pupils blown, uncertainty clouding his eyes.

“What do you want from me?” he mocks, “You don’t exactly act like you give a damn who I’m with either. It goes both ways, Clarke.”

“I care,” she replies softly, “I care a lot.”

He stops, breaking eye contact for only a second. Clarke’s vision blurs and she blinks back tears, unable to answer him. He watches, whirlwind of emotions passing over his face - but she doesn't give him the time to come up with anything and clenches her fists at her sides.

“Let me know when you’re done being a coward.”

Then she’s off, not bothering to find Octavia, not wanting to put this on anyone. She rushes back through the house, making it to the street, and walks alone, huddling in on herself, noticing the shock of the cold this time.

She doesn’t need Bellamy’s pity. She doesn’t need Lexa’s fake love.

She’d be fine on her own.

A tear trickles down her face and regretfully she wipes it away, ignoring the pain in her head. The buzz is basically gone but it's throbbing. All she wants is to sleep. Her aching heart keeps her wide awake though - reminiscing over memories she shouldn’t be.

None of Lexa.

All of Bellamy.

She considers sending Lexa a colorful text, telling her she never wants to see her again, or have anything to do with her. But she doesn’t. There’s no point fueling the fire.

So, she does nothing, just walks - on and on. Pretending she's fine.

“Princess."

Her head jolts up at that - the sound of Bellamy’s voice echoing from behind her, his footsteps picking up pace, “You didn’t have to storm off.”

“Go away,” Clarke tells him over her shoulder, caught off guard that he followed, “I don’t need you watching over me.”

“Yeah, you do,” he disagrees, catching up, blocking her path, “Someone has to do it.”

“Can we just forget it, please?” Clarke brushes off, “I’m not mad. Just leave me alone.”

“You never say anything either,” Bellamy ignores, getting to the point, “You never stop me from seeing anyone either."

The words sink in, burying into her skin, lacing themselves deeper.

"You’re a liar too, Clarke.”

They look at each other and another tear slips from Clarke’s eye, down her face, until it drips below. She’s about to rub the next one away but Bellamy beats her to it, brushing his thumb beneath where it’s wet, dark eyes soft and apologetic.

“Don’t go back to Lexa,” he pleads, curling the rest of his fingers against her cheek, “Don’t go back to her. Or anyone else.”

“Why not?” she murmurs, aware of the fluttering in her stomach. Bellamy shuts his eyes and opens them again, corner of his mouth twitching.

“You know why.”

She nods against his hand, eyelids falling, heavy all of a sudden. They don’t say the words out loud but it makes sense, they understand. The irreplaceable bond between them - the silent connection that nothing else and _nobody_ else has been able to sever.

They don't need to search anymore, to look for anyone else. 

Because in the end - they'll always make their way back to each other.


End file.
